


Perspectives~Chapter Six~Part Two: Come Back to Me

by PhoenixDragon



Series: Perspectives [12]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Dark, Gen, Horror, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-05
Updated: 2010-07-05
Packaged: 2017-10-12 05:59:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/121589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhoenixDragon/pseuds/PhoenixDragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Warnings, Notes, Disclaimers and Links to be found in the last chapter...</p></blockquote>





	Perspectives~Chapter Six~Part Two: Come Back to Me

**  
' **Come Back to Me** '   
**

  
_Don't call me back, I had everything I needed - For every lie, honey, the truth lay underneath it_ **- Carina Round**  


**11:25AM**

He had seriously been contemplating pulling over and hitching a ride the rest of the way to Flagstaff, the nap he had taken earlier had long worn off and his supply of coffee had been severely diminished. There was a rest stop about a mile and a half ahead and with the time of day it was, there were bound to be truckers hanging around - and at least one of them would be more than happy to have a passenger to ride with and keep them company. Even if said trucker could only take him half the way there, he'd be ahead of his game - and be in less danger of getting nabbed with a stolen car.

He was about an hour and a half outside of Amarillo, Texas (amazed at how quickly he had made the journey, even without speeding to get him by) the wheels of his newly acquired '98 Dodge Ram clocking the mileage by with a sure steadiness - though the vehicle itself was nothing compared to his girl's. The owner had been kind enough to leave him a full tank and a working AC which, even with autumn in full sway over the States, was sorely needed as the heat index climbed to match the desert terrain that occasionally flashed by his windows.

The radio had long fallen to static and even as he toyed with the idea of pulling over and thumbing it the rest of the way, Dean found himself fiddling with the dial anyway, hoping to get at least one good tune in before being at the mercy of the country and western he was going to be subjected to for the next few hours. That is, if his plan worked - which (being a Winchester by default) didn't always happen the way one worked it out in one's head.

So of course, what he hadn't calculated for was ramming the Ram off the road from sheer surprise and 'what-the-fuck?!' when Castiel suddenly appeared in the passenger seat next to him - which would have happened if he had been A) a poor driver (and thus slow on the reflexes) and/or B) a little easier to rattle.

Still was a close thing, though, as he forced himself to relax, grateful that oncoming traffic was sparse as he let the Dodge's wheels drift back into the correct lane.

The rushing whir of thousands of wings overwhelmed the silence as Castiel made his entrance, the air too thin and almost sweet to the taste for a few seconds as Dean fought to get his galloping heart under control, amazed that his hands were still steady as he got the truck coordinated once more, shooting the angel an aggravated glance while he bit back the first words that popped into his head. He was quite sure telling an Angel of the Lord to go fuck off and die had consequences that even _he_ couldn't imagine, so Dean settled for his next choice of expletives, a little more sure he could get away with them.

"What the _fuck_ , Castiel?!" he managed, a little embarrassed at the squeak at the end. He coughed to cover the sound, his breath exploding from his chest in a rush as he contemplated all the ways he could have just biffed it, his expression shifting from aggravation to sheer annoyance as Castiel regarded him with that mild, unwavering stare he had that creeped Dean right the fuck on out, his voice modulated and calm as he (of _course_ ) stated the fucking obvious.

"This is not your normal mode of transport."

"No shit," Dean breathed, pleased when he sounded almost normal - like his heart wasn't still racing to spill out of his ribcage. "What gave you that clue, Sherlock?"

Castiel frowned at him in serious contemplation, an expression that made Dean want to giggle, even as it also gave him the weird compulsion to bash his head repeatedly against the steering wheel.

"Is this not a different vehicle than you generally...drive?"

"Yes, Cas," Dean sighed, pleased when the angel flinched at the bastardization of his name, a distinct ruffling sound from his side of the cab indicating his irritation. Dean bit back a smile and focused his attention back on the road, sure he wouldn't want to hear whatever the creature beside him had to say, but pretty much resigned to it as he was pretty sure there was no possible way to escape him until he had done so.

Unless exiting a truck at seventy plus miles an hour was your thing.

"What do you want?" he asked in a bored tone, taking note of the sign that read 'Rest Area in 1/4 Mile(s)' and watching for the exit, even as he kept half an eye trained on Castiel - who was busily rooting through the Dodge's glove-box. Castiel didn't answer right away, too intent on frowning forebodingly at the registration papers he currently held in his mitts to even acknowledge the question directed at him.

"Did you procure this...truck...in an unethical manner?" There it was again - that strange urge to laugh and make himself unconscious all at once. Instead he settled for another sigh, flipping on his blinker as the exit he sought loomed ahead, hoping the big rig riding his ass would catch the clue and back off. No such luck on that front, but Castiel seemed to get the idea his presence was less than welcome.

"Yes, Cas - I 'procured this truck in an unethical manner'," he mimicked, slowing down as the signs directed. "Kinda had to have a way to get to where I need to go."

"And where might that be?" Without even a hint of true curiosity - it was like talking to a tape recording.

"None of your damned business, Nosy Nell," Dean huffed back. "Why the fuck do _you_ care anyway?"

"I am Charged with -"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah - save it for the choir, sweetheart," Dean grumbled halfheartedly, not even really paying attention to what he was saying. He just wished that Castiel would go find someone else to bug with his cryptic speeches and alien mannerisms.

Castiel seemed to contemplate what he spouted off, though - turning it over in his head and trying to find a meaning where there was none, until he finally gave up and went back to pawing through the glove-box as though it held the answers he sought. Dean shook his head and rubbed shaky fingers across his lips, tapping his fingers along the steering wheel as he tried to tune Castiel's noise out, pulling into a parking space at the far end of the rest area. He could tell this conversation was probably going to be anything but quiet - and as much as he liked being checked out, he certainly didn't feel like doing it at a rest stop in the middle of nowhere surrounded by truckers and vacation families in a stolen vehicle.

He switched the engine off and dropped the keys on the floor-mat, digging out his handkerchief and wiping down the dash and radio buttons, sure now that he wasn't going anywhere else with the truck. It would be too easy for Castiel to go tattling to Sam about where/when he was and with what - a thought that was increasingly making him uncomfortable the more he worried at it.

Maybe it was a blessing that Castiel showed up this early in the game. Better than being caught flatfooted further out along his destination. Now the trick was keeping him mum on Dean's whereabouts and occupied with something else while he made good his escape. It would be cutting it close - putting him right back at square one on the 'try and catch me' game, but it would be worth if he could just figure out how exactly to pull it off.

"Where's your brother?"

Annndd there it was.

Dean paused in mid-wipe, mind racing as he ran the cloth over the bottom of the steering wheel, barely flicking a glance in the angel's direction. Castiel had shoved everything back into the glove box but was having trouble with the mechanized catch, making two or three feeble attempts to close it before giving up and letting it gape open, his eyes boring through the side of Dean's head, the veritable _soul_ of patience.

"Dean -"

"I dunno, how about you try Hunter's Quarterly, maybe they might have some info -"

" _Dean_! You were supposed to -"

"I _know_ , alright?!" he barked, eyes snapping up to meet the angel's, features unreadable, even though those eyes glittered with a watery fury that disappeared within two sharp blinks, his attention turned back to the task of obliterating his presence from the truck. He huffed a laugh at the idea that his very _life_ consisted mostly of removing all traces that he had, in fact, lived it - and the irony of it rolled heavily across the back of his tongue with an oily, acidic bite, his urge to laugh fighting with the sudden urge to puke at the concept. "I _know_...Castiel - I just...why did you dump all that on me, man?"

 _My mother's deal, Sam, Sam's demon problem, Sam's psychic problem - dragging me back Topside to fail all over again, but in the same old ways -_

The angel eyed him quietly, too close, to _there_ for a moment, his very being making it almost impossible for Dean to catch his next breath. He swallowed hard against the acrid lump lodged in his throat, head hanging tiredly as he took another couple of half-hearted swipes at the steering column, too exhausted to even make the attempt any more. He just wanted to curl up and sleep and sleep and sleep. He just wanted to go away and hide for awhile, stop being Dean Winchester, stop breathing, stop thinking, stop...just _stop_.

He wanted to go Home.

He bit his lip to keep the choking noise from tumbling out, squeezing his eyes shut against the horror of what he had just thought, knowing very well what his brain meant by Home, knowing what kind of fucking lowlife that made him when Hell was more Home than Sam and his girl and his job and the open road. He knew what he had become there, but he craved the comfort of having such a role - of being important even if that importance wasn't worth much in the end. Of being somebody, of being needed - of being _wanted_ , even if it was just for the topnotch job he did taking other creatures apart molecule by molecule. He had received more praise from Alistair, more attention, more _focus_ in one month alone than he had received from his father in years.

So how pathetic and sick did that make _him_? He wasn't even fit to walk this _Earth_ -

 _what's dead should_ stay _dead_

\- much less sit in such a close space with a being of Castiel's caliber.

He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, the lump that had resided in his throat now weighing heavily in his gut, the churning feeling making his legs shake and a cold sweat break out on his forehead.

"First the round-fucking-trip to the 70's without even a kick-ass Delorean to cushion the ride - then Sam... _Sammy_ , he -"

Dean took another gulping lungful of air, the headache he had long thought he had been rid of coming back with a vengeance - anger and sorrow hot on its heels. He glared at the silent angel, his eyes reflecting Dean's pain - an almost helpless air around him, as if he was just as lost as Dean was - and dammit, how the fuck was _that_ fair?! What right did _he_ have to claim to be a higher being, a fucking _angel_ if he didn't know it all, if there wasn't some stupid lesson or platitude buried in there somewhere?

" _Say_ something, dammit!"

"Dean, I...We didn't know. We knew he was doing _something_ that required demonic involvement, but we had no idea -"

Dean cut him off with a bitter laugh, shaking his head as he dug one knuckle into a traitorous eye that tried to betray him with a single tear that refused to be blinked back. He shook with mirthless, silent laughter, any hope of going back, any hope of answers, of meaning to it all, flying straight out the window with those few words, his world crumbling faster than he could piece it together. He had hoped that maybe, it was just _him_. That he was the only one who carried this taint, that he had managed to keep it from spilling onto his brother - that maybe, just _maybe_ , if he removed his presence, Sam would find his way again - that he would be _SAM_ again. But no, his brother had been doing this all along, had been consorting with demons and their kind since he had taken his trip Downstairs via Hell-hound invitational - maybe...maybe even _before_ then. Who would know?

Certainly not this pompous, angelic asshole sitting beside him. This asshole who just sat there and stared at him with that alien, unblinking gaze like he was an interesting bug, maybe - a scrape of dog-shit on the bottom of his shiny fucking loafer. It creeped him out, it pissed him off - and it gave him that terrible, disgusting urge to open Castiel up (nice and _slow_ , inside-out) - and see what made him tick.

And goddamn it, he wasn't going to puke a-fucking-gain - he fucking _refused_ to.

"How long?" he managed to grit out at last, closing his eyes and trying to obliterate the image of Castiel on his Rack, pale skin laying in wet, reddish-purple flaps along his ribcage as Dean searched for that _spark_ , that life that made him breathe and blink and scream. "How long has he -"

"Not long..."Castiel said chidingly, as if he could see what was playing behind Dean's eyes and he disapproved. The thought that Castiel could actually read his mind and know what a sick bastard he was, what a sadistic, unrepentant monster he had hauled out of the Pit to be amongst real people again almost made him lose the battle with his stomach, his breathing harsh, sobbing wetly out of his throat with each stuttered exhale.

"He...disappeared from our combined vision every time he pursued his...activities. We know it started about three months ago - we just...we didn't know _what_ he was doing."

"Ahhh," Dean gasped thickly, fighting himself for control over his breathing, his blinking, his fucking _thoughts_ \- though it was hard to do anything of the sort with those sharp blue eyes boring into him from such a short distance. "Just a few months, then...well - at least he isn't as far along on the monster scale as _I_ am -"

" _Dean_ -" Sorrowfully.

"Don't - just... _don't_ , okay? I know what I am, I _know_! Your Father he...he made a mistake, a terrible one, but there's no fixing that now is there? Unless you can throw me back like you promised." He met Castiel's eyes almost pleadingly, his twisted hope dying at the deep well of sadness he found there, the angel's face cut with harsh lines of pain - _his_ pain skewing the features of the being that had been so proud to say that he pulled him from Perdition, the creature that left the mark of his effort on Dean's skin - and Dean couldn't feel anything but sorry for him, his insides cold and heavy with borrowed failure.

He turned away, feeling his mouth tremble with the weight of the last forty years, and all the years that fell before them. A useless, futile waste in the face of all that he had become - and god- _damn_ it he couldn't breathe through this anymore, he _couldn't_ \- the guilt alone was going to kill him.

"You...you can't - can you?" Sickened by the heartbreak he could hear in his own voice, the concept of being under Alistair's rule again a weight all on its own, but one that he almost looked forward to - until Castiel's silence destroyed even that hope.

"Dean...you don't _belong_ there -"

" _Right_ ," Dean laughed, the weight on his chest crushing the sound out of him in a hollow bark. "Yeah, 'cause thinking about carving up the guy who saved you from 'there' is fucking _normal_. Monsters don't do that."

He couldn't look at him, Castiel's scraping pull of breath telling him that he knew - he knew, he saw and he had let it pass. He couldn't look at Castiel and his three-fold reflection of truth, his very youth (strange as the thought sounded) beaming through the holier-than-thou facade, making him too real, too _vulnerable_ -

And Dean knew what he did with vulnerable nowadays.

"Maybe I can still save him -"

"Dean," Gently. "We told you to _watch_ him, to watch out for your brother - to _stop_ it -"

"Stop _what_?!" Dean exploded, the darkness within clawing to get out and make that still, unmovable object that was his own personal savior break with a satisfying crunch of flesh and bone colliding - his hands shaking with the need to punish and be punished, to feel the warm, sticky splash of blood flecked against his skin, the taste sour-copper and salty delight -

"Stop fucking _what_?!"

"We need you to find -"

"Find _out_ what I'm suppose to stop?! Find out just how deep he's gotten, just how far he's _gone_?! You _know_ \- you _know_ how deep he's gotten into this, you know how far it's _fucking gone_! If he...if he _started_ this fucking merry-go-round to _save_ me, my miraculous ability to breathe fucking _air_ again certainly hasn't stopped him from keeping at it! If anything, I've just made it _worse_! He..he sneaks out when he thinks I'm asleep - he...he can't even _look_ at me anymore!"

Dean kept his eyes averted, biting down so hard on his lower lip blood beaded across his tongue. He licked his lips before he could stop himself, almost shuddering with horror at how right it tasted, how it brought back Home and all that it had stood for - justice, retribution, hatred and agony. He closed his eyes as the memories shattered against one another, oxygen too heavy, too real for his lungs.

"I... _I_ can't look at me anymore. So tell me - how am I suppose to stop him? How am I suppose to do _anything_ \- I can't...I can't even -" Dean covered his face, with his hands, nails digging into his scalp on reflex, the sudden shock of pain grounding him, giving him strength.

"We need to find out what the end game is," Castiel gasped from the passenger side of the truck, his voice strained and thin in the close confines of the trucks cab. "We need to find out what the demon's plans for your brother are - but mostly..."

"What?" Dean whispered, weary to his very core. "Mostly, _what_ , Castiel?"

"If you can't stop him - if... _we_...can't stop him, we have to...to -"

"What - _kill_ him?" This time the laughter did sound more like a sob, though the thread-like vein of true humor actually shone through this time, his eyes too wet to be anything but tears, even as his voice rang merriment. "Ohhh, fucking _great_! Well, _DAD_ \- tell me - how the _fuck_ am I suppose to do that, _huh_? _How_? 'Hey, Sammy - sorry to be such a bitch about this, but if you don't stop doing those psychic-fucking-mind tricks that you lied to me about, Cas and his pals are gonna wipe you from the map'?!" He growled it out with false glee and smiling bravado, shoulders twitching in a 'so sue me' shrug.

"Gimme a fucking _break_!"

Cas studied him until he had laughed himself breathless, his eyes serious and grave - which only made his next words more hilarious.

"Actually, if you believe that would work, that was exactly what we had in mind."

Dean brayed another hiccuping bark, no longer sure if he was laughing or crying anymore. He was too drained to even be mortified, too sick to be worried about what a wild, sobbing man in a stolen Dodge Ram would look like to all those sweet, happy families that marched by with their innocent kids and innocent lives and white-picket-fence-30%-APR-fucking-mortgages and barbecues on fucking weekends.

He could be asked to give two fucks and a tin shit about _anything_ , he felt so wrung out - his most fervent wish being that he could take away all feeling again, just cease to care, to want, to fucking know right from _wrong_. He wanted to go home where Alistair would wipe all such nonsense away. It would be slow progress, like it was the first time - but that fucking numbness was goddamned _bliss_ compared to what he had now.

"I'm sorry -"

"You don't even know the fucking _meaning_ of the word, so shut it," Dean snapped out, any patience with Castiel's false sympathy having run out with the last of his sanity a few minutes before. "Just...be fucking _quiet_ a moment - _okay_?"

The cab fell into an awkward silence, the thrum of all that was said, all that needed to be said like 9,000 volts under Dean's skin, just buzzing and humming along, ready to inflict damage at any moment. He gathered what was left of his self-control and punched it into submission, wrestling his varied and wild emotions back into something he could more easily contain, relieved when his heart and lungs went back to standard operating procedures.

Castiel's sudden soft outburst startled him, but he found it didn't bring the hot rage he expected either, his insides too worn and aged to muster up more than a weakened hum of irritation.

"You may want to get that."

"What?" Okay, so he was still a little shakier than he liked to admit - and suddenly very, very aware of the passage of time.

"Your phone."

"My...my phone?" he asked, feeling slightly stupid and sleepy from the oceans of feeling he had been drowned in moments before.

"Yes," Castiel returned, voice deep with layered meaning. Dean felt his brain start awake at that tone, reaching for his phone and flipping it open before he could comprehend what he was doing. He put it to his ear before remembering he hadn't even turned the damn thing on yet, pulling it away long enough to set it back to the on position, hitting send almost as soon as he did so, eyes lasering across the angel's in confusion and horror.

He knew who was on the other end - he knew and cursed himself for jumping to the unspoken command in Castiel's voice before putting any thought into it, mind scrambling for fifty million greetings and sarcastic asides that never made it to his mouth, his tongue a fat useless lump of flesh in his mouth.

" _Dean_?!" Sam squeaked, his voice tinny and breathless on the other end of the line. "Oh my God - _Dean_?! _Please_ let that be you -"

"Hiya, Sammy," he rasped, feeling every emotion he had sequestered in the little lock box in the back of his head fight for freedom at the small, lost quality of his brother's voice, his heart crying out at what he was putting him through. He needed him - Sammy _needed_ him and he had just...just _abandoned_ him back there - what the fuck was he _thinking_?

But all those thoughts were dashed away at the cold bite of Sammy's next statement, his anger, betrayal and mistrust sluicing across the miles to stab at Dean, tearing what remained of his heart to shreds, even as he could feel rage wriggle its way back to freedom.

"Hiya, _Sammy_?! Is _that **it**_? Is that all you've got to _say_ , Dean?!" Dean could _hear_ it - hear the fear, the helpless rage and the sound of a man at his wits end. All rather close to home as he had just run that gamut himself.

But damned if he could stop it all from hitting him again.

His protective walls around his utter void of self were barely manageable as it was, but with the pressure of Sam's self-righteous anger, Castiel's scrutiny and his own horrifying jaunt through memory lane - it was too much. He could feel his iron control wilting like paper even as he scrambled to hold it together, everything, fucking _everything_ that had transpired over the last seventy-two to eighty fucking hours just cascaded through his will like it was made of brittle mesh, the phone creaking in his hand from the force of his last thread of control fraying before he could stop it.

"Yeah," he said casually, his own rage making his voice smooth and calm as an ocean before the storm. "Yeah, that's all I've got to say, Sam. So what have _you_ got to say, huh? Calling for a little catch-up chat, are you?"

Sam paused on the other end of the line, but Dean knew all his buttons - and he had pushed them hard. Sam had always had a bit of a temper problem - even more so since Dean had landed back in the land of the living. His impatience with damned near everything spilling out into even the simplest conversation with strangers, to the point where Dean had to cover him before he could rub everyone the wrong way - a weird role reversal that he wasn't much keen on. It was hard to come off that kinda learning curve when the last person you'd had a deep meaningful conversation with required you to split their tongue in two.

But the fun didn't exactly stop there. Dean thought he'd had to walk on eggshells with _Alistair_ when he was in a bad mood - ol' Ali was nothing compared to Sam in a temper and when that temper rode high and barely contained twenty-four seven, well...then it just became an exercise in 'how-soon'. How soon before Sam lost it and kicked him back to the curb, how soon before it all fell apart again? With the state he was in personally, he couldn't comprehend even five more minutes of that - much less however long it took to find out what some fuzzy-no-named demon's plans were and derail them before they started - however long _that_ took.

He could hear it as Sam took the bait, toying with what it was for before plunging ahead irregardless, too set on what he had to say to think about how he said it.

"What do you think you are doing, Dean?"

"Who was that, Sam - was that Ruby? It _was_ , wasn't it?" Dean countered, anger coiling hot and yet greasy in his gut. Sam's silence ate at something deep inside, chewed away at the barely restrained despair and sorrow that resided there, barely noticing Castiel still and faded, ever watching beside him.

"So, what - you're just gonna pack up and go? You're just gonna...gonna _leave_ \- is that it?" Sam asked in an incredulous tone, disdain and impatience bleeding through his tone. Dean could almost hear the eye roll behind it, his brother ever convinced that Dean was some five year old that had to be placated and coddled.

He bit back the weary need to laugh at this, the message clear - some things never change, just the light that they were seen in.

He didn't want to be Sam's cross to bear, he didn't want to be his mess to clean up, his stupid, dumb-lug, ham-fisted dolt of an older brother that had to be humored and cajoled and guided. He didn't want to hear that somehow he had been lumped in with the rest of the world when Sam had always _been_ Dean's world.

He didn't want to hear that Sam kept him around just because he was family, because he was a useful tool in the fight against evil and not because he was Sam's brother (and yes, there was a difference). He wanted to be needed, to be _wanted_ \- but there was only one creature out there that seemed to want him because of himself, not in spite of it and he couldn't even get past the _Now_ to confirm that yeah, he was a fuck-up, a mess, an idiot and a monster. Admitting that out loud to Sam would be a whole new level of failure, even as _not_ admitting it was a failure on it's own.

"You don't need me - you and Ruby go fight demons, Sam," Dean replied, too tired to stop the depression from leaking from his vocal cords.

"So...so that's it? That's the big ending? You see...you see what I can do and you just - _walk_?" Pissed now and ready to fight, tossing the barb for what it was.

"Do you know how far off the reservation you've gone?" Dean gritted, angry at the accusation even though it was true. It just sounded funny coming from his brother, who had spent his whole life running from them - running from _him_ \- knowing his next words were going to hurt. They were going to dig and gouge and bleed. "How far from _normal_ ? From _human_?"

"I'm just exorcising demons..." Sam choke in protest, Dean's jab doing just what it aimed to do.

"With your _mind_!" Dean rasped, beside himself with rage. "What else can you do - huh? What _else_?!"

"I told you!" Sam whisper-yelled back, his breathing amped as he fought to not lose his temper with his older brother.

"Right - and I have every reason to believe you," Dean sneered, fist itching to hit something - anything. Castiel made a small murmur beside him and he stilled him with a look, shaking his head at the angel to indicate his pleasure or displeasure was not needed for this conversation.

"Look, I should have said something," Sam placated, his desperation oozing through the line. "I'm _sorry_ , okay? But you've got to see the other _side_ here - the bigger picture."

"The other _side_ , Sam?"

"I'm pulling _demons_ from innocent people -"

"Use the knife, Sam!"

"The knife kills the _victim_! What I'm doing - it's...I'm saving _lives_ , Dean." Pleadingly, begging for understanding.

The problem was Dean understood all too well and was still sickened at how they had both been tricked, both been used - falling on their own respective swords with smiles on their faces, as they begged for more.

"That what Ruby want you to think - that what she told you when she tricked you into using your powers?" Dean demanded, ignoring how Castiel's eyebrows climbed into his hairline with that tidbit of information.

' _And lying to me about it?_ '

The last went unspoken, but was heard loud and clear anyway, Sam's exasperation and need to be _right_ overriding all thought, all restraint on his mouth.

"I'm sorry I lied to you, Dean, I _am_ \- you wanna take a swing? You wanna take it out on me? Fine. But man - I've saved more lives in the last few _months_ , than we have the last few _years_!"

"And then why, _exactly_ , do you need me, again?" Dean asked quietly. "To rub it in, Sam? To show me to my face that a promise made to me is worth nothing when I'm rotting in my grave?"

There was no anger behind it, but Sam reacted like there was, his answers shocked out of him as sure as if Dean had taken a cattle prod to his ass.

"You weren't _here_ , Dean. You were, you were _gone_ \- and..." Sam sniffled on the other end of the line, clearing his throat quietly. "And I? I was _here_ , dude. What was I suppose to _do_?"

Dean jolted in his seat, memory swamping him as he recalled what got them into this mess in the first place -

 _What am I suppose to **DO**?!_

\- sorrow washing through him as he realized that he had no real room to judge here. They had both gone against what they knew to be right.

But the difference was (the main difference) was that Sam hadn't stopped when Dean came back - and he had never intended to. He hadn't even _told_ him and had never intended to do that, either.

Then he'd had the balls to act like it was a no brainer, that he was never going to be caught.

And the look on his face when he _was_...

Dean's gut clenched again, the greasy ball turning cold and sour, a taste like cordite and blood flooding the back of his throat. He was helpless and he knew it. Sam wasn't going to stop - it was only going to get worse and worse until they could no longer see each other for the lies and secrets on both sides. He closed his eyes, wishing he could block out his thoughts as he saw two futures unmapping before him, both so fucking bleak, so depressing - but only one was possible. He wouldn't be able to live with the other, he couldn't let Sam live with it either. He had to wake him up, shake some sense into him.

"It's a slippery slope, Sammy - you've got to know that. It's just gonna get darker and _darker_ \- and before you know it, it's gonna go too far -"

"I won't let it get too far, Dean," Sam protested. "I've _got_ this, I can -"

"It's _already_ gone to far!" Dean exploded, enraged that while Sam could be so damned smart, he could also be so damned _stupid_ at times. "Sam, if I didn't _know_ you...if I _didn't_...I would wanna _hunt_ you. And so would other hunters!"

"What I'm doing, it...it _works_ \- it saves _lives_ ," Sam plowed on stubbornly, determined to make Dean hear him.

Dean heard him alright.

Heard that no matter what, he wasn't going to stop. That none of this mattered, that Dean was wasting his time, was wasting _Sam's_ time by arguing it out with him. He had one last shot at this, one last way to try to fix this mess before it all slid to Hell, but he knew it was going to be a long shot. He knew what he had to do in the end, he knew how it was going to play out - but like the dumbass Sam believed him to be, he had to try to make him see reason before he shot everything they were to shit once and for all.

"Tell me - if it's so great, why'd you _lie_ to me about it, huh? Why did an _angel_ send me to stop you?" Dean whispered, that same angel jumping in his seat, startled at being called out to Sam.

"An...an angel? _What_?" Sam blurted, sounding bewildered and a little guilty. "So that's what you meant in that note? _That's_ why you wrote that...that -"

"Yeah, Sammy," Dean replied, voice defeated as he thought how futile that note was, how futile this whole conversation was. "Look...it doesn't - it doesn't matter anymore -"

"It _does_! It _does_ Dean, I don't _understand_ -" Sam begged, voice raw. "Help me understand! I mean, what the _fuck_ , man?"

Dean laughed bitterly, swiping a shaking hand down his face as he fought to control his emotions, rage warring with fear for top slot as he slumped in the Rams drivers seat, knowing he had to end this, he had to push Sam down the right path because he was too weak to guide him. He knew that now. If he went back - if he just _accepted_ all this mess and returned to his brother, this merry-go-round of horror would never end.

"Then what have we been _arguing_ about, Sam?" Dean barked letting his exasperation run his mouth for him. "You know what? Do what you wanna do, you're going to anyway - "

"The _fuck_ , Dean?" Sam rasped, startled by the sudden turnaround.

"You know," Dean plowed on, ignoring his outburst (and ignoring the glare that Castiel was shooting his way), _knowing_ he was going to inflict permanent damage and helpless to stop himself. Either Sam was going to continue on his kamikaze path, taking a whole bunch of people with him or maybe (and this was Dean's hope) he would find a new one, even if it was without him. _Especially_ if it was without him. All Dean was sure of in the end, was that he could barely hold _himself_ together. As selfish as that was and as much of an asshole that made him, he knew he truly didn't have the strength to hold them both together - so maybe it was best if he continued to hold them apart. "If I had known that that was all it would take, just waving pussy at you to get you to fall in line, I would have done that _years_ ago. Oh wait - I _tried_ \- too bad it just wasn't the right kind, am I right or am I right?"

" _Dammit_ , Dean -" Sam hollered, fury starting to rise in his tone and he realized that he was being pushed, but was unsure why. "I don't know what the _fuck_ you think you're pulling -"

"You _are_ fucking her, right? I mean she's fucking _you_ , so it's only logical you return the favor -"

"It's not _like_ that -" Sam cut in, frothing rage mixing with bewilderment and hurt. Dean was switching off too fast for him to track and he could hear Sam's gears scrambling to catch up with it all. "I swear to _God_ , it's not -"

"Then what _is_ it like, Sam? I mean - what is it with you and bangin' _monsters_ , man? And you wanna know what the icing on the fucking cake is? The real friggin' _kicker_? This is the same bitch who lied to your face for over a year - to your fucking _face_ , Sammy! Or have you conveniently forgotten that part?"

Sam made an enraged choking noise, too flabbergasted to reply - which only left Dean with more of an opening to drive this burning truck through.

"But really, I guess I should be more understanding," he laughed, switching tactics (again) midstride, each word cutting deep in his own heart, so he could just imagine what this was doing to Sam. How crazy he must sound as he spewed every hurt, every fear that he had harbored for the past day and a half, hell - for the past _month_ \- like razors into his brother's waiting ear, each word meant to cut, to burn, to _wound_. After all, why not utilize his talents? He went from being Daddy's blunt little instrument to being Alistair's razor, didn't he? As far as the world was concerned - as far as _Sam_ was concerned - that was all he was good for, _right_? So why the fuck _not_?

"I mean when _ordinary_ pussy just won't cut it, why not go for broke? All Ruby has to do is wave what she passes off for girl parts in your face and you fall right in, damn the consequences! If I had known all these years that this was all it would take, I would've made you bff with a demon a long time ago! Oh wait - I pretty much already _did_ that, didn't I? I mean, I swapped spit with one to haul you back to life and went to Hell without even a _handjob_ to go with that demon tongue, while you let this bitch rattle your fucking cage - but who _gives_ a fuck, right?"

"Dean, _you_...the _**fuck**_...you _fucking_ -" Sam was incoherent with rage and pain, gasping for breath on the other end of the line as each word landed like a punch to his solar plexus. Castiel has stiffened in his seat, shoulders ridged as he watched Dean verbally destroy his brother - all in the hopes he might be able to save him. Dean could see that he didn't dare interfere, but even such a creature as him (cold, aloof, uncaring) could see what was happening.

"I mean, _I_ ain't no good to you, right? You're saving _lives_! More than we've saved in _years_! So you go on, Sammy. Do what you wanna do, little brother. You'll do that whether I'm there or not anyhow. Why hang around and be a reminder for why you left this life in the _first_ place? I mean, since _I_ ain't fucking you in any way...you got Ruby for that all round - what possible fucking use would I be? All _I_ can be is the asshole you sneak past at night to go play emohunter with a fucking _demon_. Well I'm done you hear me? You do what you wanna do, I'm out - the world can fucking _burn_ for all of me -"

" _Fuck_ you," Sam grated breathlessly, the sound too wet and ragged for him to be doing anything other than crying. "Fuck you _and_ the goddamned high-horse you rode in on!"

"Right back at ya, sweetheart," Dean returned cheerfully, knowing that the smarmy endearment alone would leave Sam apoplectic with fury. "Me and my high-horse are gonna be elsewhere - but you watch for my angel-buddies alright? They just might do the job that I fucked two years ago -"

"How can you fucking _say_ this shit to me?" Sam hissed, and yeah, he was crying - he was crying and he sounded long past screaming, long past rage, it seemed. Dean's heart squeezed in his chest, everything in him screaming for him to stop it, to take it back, to heal his brother's pain - but he held on tight. This was all he had left, this was all he could give even as cruel as it was. He just hoped that his words did what he himself could not. He hoped that they pulled Sam back from that ledge, that they snapped him back into being _Sam_ \- instead of some demonic whore's puppet-boy.

"Easy as pie, little brother," Dean retorted, voice menacing as he fired off his last salvo, knowing that it was over before it began - but also praying that it would keep Sam from looking for him, for seeking out someone who would hurt him so goddamned badly."You be good, now - or I'm sure my angel pals will be wanting to talk to you. Their damned dirty work, anyway, right? I mean, I _obviously_ rank below anything Ruby says or does - so you just keep following that little fine piece of ass if that's what gets you to sleep at night. Maybe she'll lead you straight to Hell on it. And hey - when you get there, tell 'em hi from me, will ya? Tell 'em ol' Dean-o misses the home fucking fires that burn -"

"I'm sure you'll be able to tell them that yourself," Sam fired back, wanting to hurt Dean as badly as he had been hurt - and yeah, it hit its mark.

"I'm sure I will, little brother," Dean returned softly. "Goodbye, Sammy."

He snapped the phone closed with one smooth, practiced motion, giving into his rage and pain as he crushed it in his fist, the satisfying pop and crunch of metal and plastic relieving the hollowed out feeling that had bloomed within him from the moment he realized who was on the line. Shit, he knew even _before_ then, but that voided, washed out, faded, depressed feeling just followed in with the total realization that he couldn't fix it. He could never fix it - hell, the _old_ Dean couldn't fix it. The old Dean probably would have been dumb enough to just sit back and watch it happen - the Winchester version of sticking your fingers in your ears and humming.

He made a small pained noise as he disintegrated the phone against the granite curl of his fingers, smiling in angry satisfaction as shards of plastic embedded themselves into his palm, ultra thin wires of metal slicing along his fingers and sticking where they lodged. The phone itself letting out a protesting whine as a call came through and was summarily rejected by the way of Dean's rage. The sounds becoming thin and warbling before bleating out altogether in a buzzing screech, the speakers coming apart under the next crushing assault, his blood leaking bright and comforting from the cradle of his hand to patter designs across his thighs, the jeans absorbing the thick liquid eagerly.

Castiel sat silent, as quiet and unblinking now as he had been during the whole exchange with Sam, blue eyes smouldering in angry surprise as he watched Dean's blood well across the cup of his hand, overflowing onto his jeans, the angel actively struggling to distance himself from the whole situation, to make himself the wounded party. Dean chuckled at the thought of Castiel and his wounded morals, his self-righteousness offended, his surety now skewed and scattered.

"You should not have done that," Castiel protested, waffling between dignity, anger and dismay. "That was foolish and will drive your brother straight into the arms of darkness."

Dean found his choice of words funny, but the context of them even funnier as they were rumbled in a monotonous sing-song, Castiel's miffed tone almost screaming sanctimonious, prudish old lady.

"Might - might not...I won't be around to find out." Dean shrugged, visibly shaking off the fascination his own blood held as it ran a chaotic, meandering stream down his wrist. He let what was left of the phone fall into his lap, wincing as the pieces embedded in his hand flexed and dug in with each movement. "Though I'm sure you'll keep an eye on him for me, since you are so keen on his well-being."

"Dean," the angel whispered, sorrow (or a good facsimile thereof) hollowing his cheeks. "You are my Charge - as much as I would like to help Sam..."

Castiel shifted his shoulders in what might have been a shrug, the grayness of the angel's bewildered hurt seeping into the gray of Dean's soul, tainting him further with yet another creature's despair and disappointment. He looked to Dean as Sammy had when he was small, asking him with his eyes to make it better, to soothe the hurt and confusion away.

Dean was again stunned with the idea of how very _young_ Castiel was in the grand scheme of things. Earth and its inhabitants seemed too new to him, his own brethren seemed foreign to the angel as memories of his rescue played through his head. The other angelic host were at ease with themselves, sure of their roles - their banter so close to what you would hear on an ordinary street, on any average day it was startling. Castiel seemed lost in that respect. Slang went over his head, terms of endearment were met with a blank look - even the simplest of emotions seemed to rattle him. He was an odd, alien thing, but Dean could see how he would have normally taken Castiel under his wing, protected him from those who would hurt him (even if they were his own kind), seeing a creature he would be proud to call a friend, to call _family_. But these were no ordinary circumstances - and the Dean that would have done all those things was long dead.

Or at least...he _hoped_ he was.

"Castiel," he began carefully, sure that if Sam was going to try to locate him, now would be the time - and he had sat still too long. Even if Sam wasn't (and frankly after that conversation, he certainly hoped he _wouldn't_ try to find him) he had still been here too long. It was time to move on, to start fresh - and Castiel was another potential friend, another person he would have to lose. He smiled softly at the angel he would have liked to have called 'friend', his change in demeanor immediately setting Castiel on alert, his manner wary, suspicious.

He _could_ make sure that the two he lost weren't lonely. And maybe, just maybe, his actions would set Sam further on the right path again.

He knew Sam would take Castiel in, make him one of their own - even if Dean Winchester was the Enemy's name on their lips. He could make that happen, he would _make_ that happen -

Call it a tribute to the man who went to Hell for his brother.

"Cas -"

"Dean, what are you -" Castiel started to say, but was cut off when Dean next spoke.

"I Charge you," Dean began, heart twisting at the stricken, almost betrayed look that Castiel gave him. "I Task you to look after Sam as if he were your own brother."

"Dean - you have no idea what you are asking," Castiel rasped, looking as frightened as a creature like him could. "You have no idea what you are laying upon me -"

"I think I do. You saved me and yet somehow - you are in my debt, correct?" Dean asked gently, feeling sorry for Castiel as he writhed inside his borrowed skin, knowing the dangerous territory he was treading by even asking such a question.

"That is...that is correct."

"Then I Charge you, Castiel, Angel of Sorrows, to take up this Task - do you accept?" Dean asked formally, knowing that it would compel Castiel, a being of rules and structure, to answer.

"I...I," Castiel pleaded with his eyes for Dean to remove his Task, to remove the binding that Castiel would be forced to accept just by the debt he owed alone.

He accepted his bond with Dean on the Charge of his Brethren, awed and pleased to be granted such a Task. But this Charge, while not severing that bond, would hinder it - muddy the metaphorical waters and split his loyalties. His loyalty was always first and foremost to his Father and His Father's Host - but Dean came next. His Charge of Dean could rival even the loyalty he held to Heaven - and for a Charge to lay _down_ a Charge...well - it was unheard of, but it could be done. And he was left with no choice but to answer it as it was asked.

"I accept," the angel whispered. " I take up Your Task and accept the Charge. My Debt is now repaid."

Castiel sounded regretful, like he was sorry to lay aside the debt that he owed Dean, whereas Dean could feel nothing but relief. He would soon owe no one - and now, no one owed him. He could start over, take his own Charge given to him by Birch and fulfill it, all the balances set for him to try to find out what he was besides Dean Winchester, brother to Sam, son of John, former hunter, protector, guardian and watchdog.

"I ask only one more thing before you go, Cas," Dean said kindly, giving the angel an out if he needed one.

"Anything," Castiel replied.

Dean flinched at his response, smile flickering to a brief grimace before relaxing back into that soothing twist of his lips - a smile he would often give Sammy when things didn't always go the way they were suppose to (in Sam's eyes). When Sam was _Sammy_ , when he was still small and still Dean's baby brother - when Dean was still a superhero.

"Take this with you," Dean said, pulling the new sim card he has swapped the original for over 24 hours ago in a rest stop bathroom from the wreckage that was once a cellphone, holding it out to Castiel. "Oh - and always be careful who you say ' _anything_ ' to, Cas...some people would take that as an invite to hurt you."

"I knew that you would not," the angel replied, though his eyes called him a liar. Somehow, Dean _had_ hurt him - and he would just have to add that to the tally he had to work through over the next few months.

He had a lot to make up for on the karmic scale - what was one more?

"Castiel?"

The angel looked up at him, the sim card having disappeared into the folds of his trench-coat, his whole being shrinking in on itself as Dean called him by his proper name.

"Thank you."

"For what?" Castiel asked, sounding almost human for the first time since Dean had met him.

"For taking the Charge, for trying to understand - for raising me from Perdition. I know I failed you and I'm...I'm sorry, but I have no choice here? Do you see that?"

"I see that _you_ see things that way," the angel offered generously. " As for the rest, I can only say 'you're welcome' and extend my thanks in return."

Castiel bowed his head in Dean's direction and with a final whir of wings, Dean was alone with his stolen truck, a lap full of drying blood, a lacerated hand, a broken cellphone and a duffle filled with the arcane objects of a Hunter (and a Charge by one Mr 'Twig' Birch Collins).

When he looked down at his hand to assess the damage and extent of his patch-up job for his little temper fit, he was surprised to find the cuts gone, not even any pink tissue left behind, his fingers and palm whole and grinned in pride.

The angel was sneaky, he'd give him that.

He wiped down the interior of the cab again (half-grateful he hadn't bled everywhere) giving the keys a cursory wipe as well before putting them in the visor overhead.

He had a trucker or two to ask a favor from.

 **~ * ~ * ~**

  
 _"You always have the best stories, Dean. I wish some of them never ended."_

"Every story has an ending, Sammy - some of them don't have the ending we want, but everything ends."

"Except for our story, ours hasn't ended yet."

"No - and hopefully it won't end for a long time, dude. But one day, even our story will end."

"Will it be a happy ending, d'ya think?"

"I dunno, Sammy," softly, as if the merest jarring noise will break the fragile hope of that innocent question. "Only time will tell."

 **~ * ~ * ~**

  
 **12:32PM**

" _God_ , Bobby, why did I say that?" Sam gasped, voice muffled as he tried to hide the tears behind his hands, whole body shaking with exhaustion and pain. "I mean, I just...just told my brother to go to Hell - I told him..."

He fought to breathe, trying to keep himself from breaking down again while Bobby hovered quietly near his shoulder, wanting to pat him comfortingly, but unsure of just how that gesture would be received right now. Everything just went sideways and even Singer was having a difficult time comprehending how it got there - much less how to fix it. All he could do was take it one step at a time, one Winchester at a time - and since he had one here, might as well start with getting him calm, getting his hurt to ease, get him to think.

"Sounds like he said his fair share of awful things, Sam," Bobby hedged, knowing that he would either get the young man to see sense or drive him into another fit of anger. "I mean, when you told me some of the things he said to you, I just...it _confused_ me, I wonder if -"

"No," Sam said quietly, scrubbing one hand over the tracks on his face as he gave a weary stretch of his shoulders. "No, he isn't possessed. That was - that was all Dean. Granted, he's never talked to me like that before - usually when we argue, _I'm_ more inclined to say things I'll regret later. But...I don't think - I don't think he's going to regret it. It was almost as if -"

"He was pushing you," Bobby said gruffly, sitting on the other bed with a tired flop. "Yeah...yeah - that's what it sounds like. The only alternative besides that is possession. Just can't see him saying those things without it being one or t'other, you know?"

He finally risked being snarked at and leaned forward to lay a comforting hand on Sam's shoulder, knowing that sometimes the slightest touch grounded Sam, made him able to think more clearly. Sam relaxed under his fingers and gave him a grateful smile. Though tears still shone in his eyes and the smile was wobbly, he looked like he was doing better, he was coming to accept what had happened. Moving past it though was another matter. Sam was like a dog with a bone when he got the notion and Bobby was sure this situation would be no different.

That determined gleam was starting to rekindle across the span of his features, his brow furrowed in thought, one hand drifting to grip the hair on the side of his head as he distanced himself to work the conversation through, to get a handle on the facts as he knew them.

"Yeah...that wasn't anything but deliberate, Bobby. The question is, _why_? Why did he run in the first place? Why is he so set on staying away?"

"Maybe what he saw -"

Sam paused, wriggling uncomfortably at the memory.

It was bad enough that Dean had caught him exorcising a demon in the first place - that's what landed him in this mess. But when Bobby came back from Birch's doorstep with zip in the 'finding Dean' slot, he forced Sam to spill the beans on why they were chasing him all over Hell's Half-Acre anyway. Sam had only been able to stall as long as it took them to get this hotel room (which was, ironically, five miles away from the hotel room that this whole nightmare started in), but Bobby was having none of it. Sam had begged him to head home, to forget it - he would find Dean himself - but Bobby was invested..and curious. Sam knew a stubborn Winchester was a force to be reckoned with, but a stubborn Singer was a close second.

They had whisper-argued all the way into the room, but with nowhere to go, no other allies he could trust (and hell, it was _Bobby_ ) he finally told the whole story, beginning to end, leaving nothing out. Bobby had hit the roof, five levels of atmosphere and the moon. Singer wasn't a stupid man - he knew what it all meant. This was what Sam had left his house for in the first place after Dean died. He ditched Bobby and took up with the same demon that had strung him along for a whole year before leaving him writhing in his grief. He hollered about 'the bitch's' convenient timing, how she was trying to get him hooked on demon blood (yeah, Sam told him about that too) like it was a drug, and then get him hooked on his powers which obviously were a drug. Had to be if he'd lie about it - had to be if he _hid_ what he could do.

Basically, he and Bobby had just had the same conversation that he and Dean did - only with less yelling (well, on Sam's part) and fewer jabs thrown in. The talk with Bobby was more Sam talked, Bobby listened (and after going ballistic for a few minutes) and had heard him out completely. He even agreed that Sam's powers could be a good thing, that he was doing something good with it (though hiding what he was doing was a tally on the minus side there) - but he agreed with Dean that it could be a slippery slope.

' _Road to Hell, Sam_ -' he had said in his rough, but kindly way - before it was back to the debate.

The debate they had still been in the middle of when Sam's call had finally rung through, (the calls being an almost constant for the last several hours) startling Singer to silence and getting Sam's heart to thump sideways within his chest. Bobby had excused himself quietly to go get a coke while Sam talked to his brother, so he missed the call completely, though he was sure the two boys would be able to get it worked out - if anyone could patch up quick and find a way to heal together, the Winchester brothers could.

Too bad it had all gone to shit very, very quickly. Sam let his temper get the better of him and before he knew it, the call was over. One second Dean was spitting venom, his manner uncaring, cold even - and the next he's saying 'Goodbye, Sammy' in that way that always meant, ' _I'm sorry_ ' and ' _I love you_ ' all at once (like only Dean could say it) and all that did was make Sam cry harder. He knew right then, the very second he had heard those parting words accompanied by a soft click in his ear that it was over, that finding Dean would be damned near impossible.

Didn't mean he'd stop trying though.

"No...no that's not it. Not _completely_. It was like this just all...snowballed out of control, you know? I think seeing me - seeing me do what I do may have been the last straw, but it wasn't what made him run - not really."

"Were you able to -"

"Track his cell? No - ran the sim card and I've got the computer working on a location now, but I think he's got it shut off. I tried to call back and zilch, nada, nothing." Sam took a deep shaky breath, trying to smile again but failing as he leaned to one side to check the laptop's progress, the machine churning busily at its task as the two men talked. "Started all that before you came back to find me a total wreck."

"It's okay son, think I'd be a bit of a wreck, too. You know what this means though -"

"Yeah," Sam sighed, trying to fight the hopeless feeling that made him want to burrow under the covers until the world went away. "Means we're right back to square one."

"Well, it will give us the opportunity to look at this from different angles now - instead of just chasing five steps behind him, or chasing our tails," Bobby rumbled reassuringly, giving Sam's shoulder another squeeze before lurching to his feet. Sam swiped at his face again, sniffling back a few tears that tried to fight their way through and gave him a watery smile.

"So..." he started, hesitantly.

"So," Bobby returned, giving his own watery smile and hoping he didn't look as old as he felt (Damned Winchesters). "How about we get some grub, get some shut-eye and head back to my place to brainstorm a little."

"Sounds like a plan," Sam replied, trying to put more oopmh in his grin. "Just need to check the - what the hell?!"

"What?" Bobby asked, tensing at the 'uh-oh' tone in Sam's voice. "What's going on?"

"That's what I'd like to know," Sam rasped, sounding more than a little panicked. "Remember how I said I still had the computer searching for Dean's cell?"

"Yeah - you said it was a long-shot but that it wouldn't hurt to try," Bobby recalled, slightly confused at why Sam's eyes were wide, lips white as he hunched over the computer - but concluding that it was nine kinds of not-good. "So what's the problem - did it find him?"

"Uhhh, I guess you could say that," Sam breathed, taking two steps back from the machine and looking over his shoulder at Singer, eyes still too round for his liking. "More like _it_ is finding _us_ -"

"What in Sam Hill is _that_ suppose to -" Bobby started to retort (feeling more than a little panicked himself now) but unable to complete the thought out loud as everything in the room swayed slightly, the deafening rustle of a thousand birds' wings exploding through the small confines of their shabby hotel room. Both men backed up instinctively as another man appeared in their midst, his whole being singing power and grace as he just melted into reality out of nowhere, his eyes skimming Singer (sparking recognition as they passed him over) before landing on Sam. The youngest Winchester shuddered under the icy calm of that gaze, his mouth dropping open to speak, though words just seemed to die on his lips before they could ever meet the air. Bobby didn't seem to have that problem though.

"What the - it's _you_!" Singer choked out, looking right next door to having a heart attack as he caught Sam's eyes for a brief few seconds with his own. "You're -"

"Castiel," the man said in an eerie monotone, his voice ringing with restrained sound as his whole body tilted in Sam's direction. Sam looked stricken, awed as the creature looked him over, the scrutiny making him want to squirm even as he wished to speak, to introduce himself to the angel that had saved his brother, to profess his gratitude and explain his failures all at once.

Castiel tilted his head at him, face softening as he took in the young man's internal struggle, silencing his wish to speak with a slow, deliberate shake of his head.

"Do not be afraid, Sam Winchester. I am Castiel, an Angel of the Lord. It was I who gripped your brother tight and raised him from Perdition - and I come to you Charged by your brother to watch over you."

All Bobby and Sam could do was stare, frozen by shock at his announcement, neither really sure whether to speak or not, their next series of actions now thrown into a complete muddle by the presence of the angel in the middle of the room.

"I bring a token from him, to assure you that I am not here to harm you," Castiel continued mildly (though neither man had enough wits to even think far enough ahead to Castiel being there with evil intent, angel or no). He reached into his pocket as he spoke, eyes still boring into Sam's as he opened his fist to reveal the object nestled gently on his palm. "I have been Charged and must answer. My Task is to see you through your own Perdition, Sam Winchester - and see you through it I will."

Sam gulped, confused and rattled by Castiel's statements, unsure of what to ask, unsure of what to say. He finally registered that Castiel was holding his hand out to him and gathered the courage to wrench his eyes away from the angel's face long enough to see what he held in his hand (barely registering the soft gasp from Bobby on his right) not really surprised when he found focus enough to recognize it for what it was -

The sim card to Dean's cellphone.

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings, Notes, Disclaimers and Links to be found in the last chapter...


End file.
